Fate of the Fallen

Location: Aboard the alien vessel, within the Sol System
Date: October 16, 2024
Time: 10:15 AM Earth Time

Your eyes flicker open—or at least, you think they do. There’s no slow transition from sleep to wakefulness, no foggy grogginess pulling you into awareness. It’s more like you’ve just… appeared. One moment, there was nothing: darkness, confusion, and now… this.

You blink, or try to, but the sensation feels off. Something about it doesn’t seem quite right. As your surroundings come into focus, you find yourself in a room. Or, at least, it seems like a room. White, featureless, and bright. The walls, if there even are walls, stretch endlessly in every direction, leaving no shadows or details to anchor you to anything familiar. No windows, no doors. Just an endless, sterile expanse.

You try to lift your hand—except nothing happens at first. Panic rises in your chest as you look down, only to realise that you aren’t even sure you have a body. For a moment, the thought terrifies you. But then, slowly, it feels like your hand is there again, even though you still can’t see it. The delay between thinking and acting, between willing and feeling, is unsettling.

“What the hell?” you mutter, the words sounding strange and detached. The voice doesn’t feel like it’s coming from your throat or your lips. It’s just there, hanging in the air around you, as if it came from somewhere else.

You stand up—or at least, you think you do. Your mind wills it, and suddenly you’re upright. But there’s no weight, no pull of gravity grounding you to the floor. Everything feels distant, disconnected, like you’re not really in your body at all, just existing.

You glance around, mind buzzing with questions. Where are you? How did you get here? And why does everything feel so… wrong? It’s as though you didn’t wake up—more like you just… became. This is no ordinary place. Something is off. Very, very off.

You stand there, your mind grasping at something—anything to make sense of this place. But the more you think, the more confused you become. You try to remember how you got here. Were you on a plane? Yes, you were. A jolt of memory rushes back: turbulence, a violent shake, people screaming. That flight attendant… and then… what?

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to dig deeper into the memory, but the details slip away like sand through your fingers.

What happened?

You search your mind, grasping for the sequence of events. There was the plane, yes. You remember the green light, blinding and strange. But after that, everything becomes foggy, disjointed. Flashes of images—shattered plastic, panicked voices, your own heart pounding in your chest. And then… nothing.

Wait… why can't I remember more?

You frown, a cold sense of dread creeping over you. There are gaps. Huge, yawning voids where your memories should be. Whole chunks of time, missing. You try to recall the last few days, but nothing comes up. The faces of people you know… blurry. Names, places fading like forgotten dreams. What’s your last clear memory? You push harder, reaching deeper.

Suddenly, you realise you can’t even remember what you had for breakfast the day before. Did you have breakfast? What did you do yesterday? The day before? Or the week before that?

Nothing. A gaping hole.

You shake your head, the panic rising. “This doesn’t make sense,” you mutter, your voice trembling. Why can’t you remember? It’s like pieces of your life have been cut away, leaving only fragments—loose ends that don’t connect like a giant bowl of spaghetti.

You glance around the room again, searching for answers, but the featureless white expanse offers nothing. It’s like you’ve been plucked out of existence and placed into… what? A dream? A simulation? You’re not sure, but whatever this is, it’s not real. It can’t be.

Who did this to me? you wonder, your mind racing. The more you try to think back, the more unsettling the gaps become.

As you stand there, lost in your fragmented thoughts, something flickers in your peripheral vision. You turn sharply, eyes wide, heart thudding in your chest.

From the pristine, white floor, a sphere begins to emerge. It's the size of a basketball, its surface smooth and metallic, with a strange, ethereal glow pulsing softly from within. There's no sound, no vibration. The sphere simply phases through the floor as though the solid surface doesn’t exist.

“What the hell?” you whisper, instinctively taking a step back, your pulse quickening. Your mind races with explanations: maybe a hallucination? Dream? Alien technology?

The sphere floats a few inches above the ground now, its glow intensifying, casting long, soft shadows across the featureless room. You stare at it, wide-eyed, your breath caught in your throat.

“What are you?” you murmur, not expecting an answer.

It hovers there, silent and unmoving, like it's watching you. Or waiting.

You take another cautious step back, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you. Part of you wants to reach out and touch it, but another part—the part that told your ancestors that having a fistfight with a sabertooth tiger would be a bad idea—screams at you to keep your distance. You don’t know what this thing is. You don’t know where you are.

Your eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of an exit, some escape from this increasingly strange situation. But the walls remain blank and unbroken, and your gaze is drawn back to the sphere as it hovers there, eerily still.

A shiver runs down your spine. You’ve seen weird things before, sure, but nothing like this. This feels different. This feels… wrong.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice shaky.

The sphere remains silent, its glow shifting subtly, casting faint reflections on its metallic surface. You stand there, staring at it, your mind spinning with questions. You want to move, to do something, but your body feels frozen in place, waiting for whatever comes next.

You stare at the strange, basketball-sized sphere that just phased through the floor, hovering silently before you. Its smooth, silver surface glows faintly, featureless except for the strange, unsettling hum it gives off. Your heart pounds in your chest.

“What... the hell is this?” you whisper, taking a step back. Your mind races, trying to make sense of the absurdity.

"Greetings, Tom," a calm, synthetic voice echoes in your mind. You flinch, looking around, but there’s no one else here. The voice is coming from the sphere.

“What is this? Where am I?" you demand, panic rising in your voice. You’re trying to keep it together, but everything feels wrong. "Am I dreaming? This has to be a dream, right?”

"You are aboard a vessel beyond your planet’s atmosphere," the sphere replies, as though that’s supposed to make any sense. "Your plane experienced a collision. Your body was critically damaged. Survival was... impossible without intervention."

You blink, the words bouncing around in your head without fully landing. "Beyond... my planet’s atmosphere? What are you talking about? No, no, no—this can’t be real."

Your chest tightens as you try to remember what happened. The plane, the turbulence... but everything after that is a blur, like pieces of a puzzle that don't want to fit together no matter how much you try. You shake your head, unwilling to accept what you're hearing.

"You are alive, but not as you were before,” the sphere continues, as if your confusion and disbelief didn’t matter. "Your consciousness has been preserved. You are being offered a second chance."

Your heart skips a beat. "Second chance? What does that even mean? I don’t understand any of this! I was just on a plane..."

"The crash," the voice says, still calm. "Your physical form sustained injuries too severe for repair."

“Crash? What crash?” You grab at your head, trying to think. “I... I don’t remember a crash.” Your memories are all jumbled, and the gaps in your mind are like black holes. “Wait—am I dead? Is that what you’re saying? Am I dead?”

"You are alive, but your original body is no longer functional," the sphere replies, like it’s reading off instructions from a manual. "We have saved your mind. Your body, however, could not be restored."

Your eyes widen. “My mind? What do you mean, my body couldn’t be restored? You’re telling me I’m just... what? A brain in a jar now?”

"Not precisely," the sphere responds. "You will be given a new form—a form suited to survival in the world where you will be sent."

You stare at it, your brain struggling to keep up with what it’s saying. “Wait, wait—back up. Sent where? What are you even talking about? Why can’t I just go home?”

"That is not possible," the sphere answers. "Your knowledge of us, and the circumstances of your survival, would raise suspicions on your planet. We cannot allow this."

Your head spins. "Knowledge of... you? Are you kidding me? None of this makes any sense! I don’t even know who—or what—you are!"

"We are forbidden from revealing our existence to your species. Thus, you cannot return," it states, as if that somehow clears everything up.

You feel the blood drain from your face. “You’re telling me I’m stuck here? Forever? I don’t even know where ‘here’ is!”

"The destination is a world inhabited by sentient beings," the sphere continues, unfazed by your distress. "You will be transformed into one of them, allowing you to live among them."

A surge of anger boils up inside you. "Transformed? You can’t just do that to me! I—this isn’t fair! You can’t just take my body away and—”

"You have a choice," it interjects calmly. "You can accept this transformation, or your consciousness will be terminated."

Your breath catches in your throat as the weight of its words crashes over you. “Terminate? Like, I’ll just… die?”

“Yes. You will cease to exist. This is your only opportunity for survival,” the sphere clarifies, its tone as flat and devoid of emotion as the sterile environment surrounding you.

You take a step back, the reality of your situation settling in like a heavy blanket. “So, you’re telling me my only options are to become… whatever you’re offering, or just… die? That’s it?”

The sphere pulses gently, as if in acknowledgment. "Yes."

You feel your heart racing, your palms sweaty. “But what about my life? My memories? My family? My friends?”

“They cannot follow you,” the sphere says, its voice unwavering. “You will be reborn in a new form, with a new life.”

A chill runs down your spine at the thought. A new form? A new life? But you still feel like you’re being torn away from everything you know. The fear and confusion bubble up inside you. “What if I don’t want to? What if I refuse?”

The sphere remains silent for a moment, its glow pulsing steadily. “This is not a negotiation. You do not have the luxury of choice. The decision has already been made for you.”

A deep anger wells within you, mixed with despair. You can’t accept this. You won’t. “I—”

But before you can finish, the sphere interrupts, its voice growing softer. “The transformation requires DNA from a pony. We cannot proceed without it. This will delay your transition until the necessary materials are acquired.”

You stare at it, confusion still swirling in your mind. “Pony? What are you talking about? I don’t even know what that means!”

The sphere remains eerily calm. “I will explain. The world you will inhabit is called Equestria. Its inhabitants are equine in form. You will be transformed into a creature of that world, allowing you to integrate seamlessly.”

“Equestria?” The name feels foreign, foreign like the idea of being turned into something else entirely. “What makes you think I even want to go to some alien planet anyway?”

“It is not a matter of want. It is a necessity,” the sphere states, as if delivering a scientific fact.

Your mind reels as you try to process everything. The journey, the transformation… the fate of your identity hangs in the balance, and you feel utterly helpless.

“Are you just going to leave me here?” you demand, anger and fear rising to the surface. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know this isn’t some trick?”

“The only truth is that your survival hinges on your acceptance of this new existence,” the sphere replies matter-of-factly. “Your memories may be fragmented, but your consciousness remains intact. Embrace this opportunity for survival, or be lost forever.”

You take a deep breath, fighting to keep your emotions in check. The panic is still there, a simmering undercurrent, but beneath it is something else—a desperate desire to fight back against the situation.

“You’re saying I can live as a pony?” you ask, your voice softer now, though the disbelief still lingers. “But… what if I don’t want to?”

“The choice is not yours to make. You are not returning to your original state. This is the only path forward.”

Your heart sinks at the finality of the words. This is it. You’re at the edge of something enormous, something life-altering. But you can’t shake the feeling that you’re losing a part of yourself in the process.

What happens to everything I’ve ever known?

“Fine,” you say, your voice trembling with uncertainty. “Let’s say I accept this. What will happen to me? What will I become?”

“Your new form will be that of a pony, tailored to the requirements of Equestria,” the sphere explains. “You will retain your consciousness and memories, though some fragments may be lost in the transition. It is a necessary compromise for your new existence.”

You swallow hard, the weight of the decision heavy in your chest. “And if I say yes, what’s next?”

The sphere’s glow intensifies, casting a strange light across the empty space. “We will initiate the transformation process upon acquiring the necessary materials. You will then be reuploaded to your new body.”

With a sigh that feels like it shakes your very soul, you close your eyes, trying to calm the storm within. “This is insane,” you whisper to yourself, trying to find a sliver of resolve in the chaos. “This can’t be real.”

But even as you say it, a small part of you knows it is. And there’s no way back.

Determined to fully grasp your situation, you take a deep breath. “I need to see my body,” you say, your voice becoming steadier than before. “Show me what’s left of me.”

The sphere hovers silently for a moment before responding. “Displaying your current physical state may induce psychological distress. Proceed with caution.”

“I can handle it,” you insist, your voice tight on the inside though you couldn't be further from the truth.

“Show me.”

Without another word, the sphere projects a three-dimensional hologram into the air. It’s your body—or rather, what remains of it. The image floats in the sterile light, displaying extensive trauma.

You stare in disbelief. Your right arm is mangled, bent at unnatural angles. Large swaths of skin are bruised and lacerated, and deep incisions expose muscle tissue. Your legs are in even worse shape: the left is severely crushed, while the right is riddled with fractures. Your face, though partially obscured, is almost unrecognisable.

“This is the current state of your biological form,” the sphere says, its tone clinical. “Would you like a detailed medical report?”

You swallow hard, fighting down the rising nausea. “Yes.”

The sphere begins its explanation, the hologram zooming in on specific regions of your body as it speaks.

“Beginning with the cranial injuries: the impact resulted in a complex fracture of the frontal bone, extending into the parietal and temporal regions. Haemorrhaging was detected in both the subdural and epidural spaces, leading to increased intracranial pressure. The frontal lobe sustained diffuse axonal injury, accounting for the observed memory deficits and cognitive impairment. Immediate surgical intervention would have been required to alleviate the hematomas, but given the circumstances, such measures were not possible.

“Moving down the spinal column: fractures were identified along the C4 to C7 vertebrae, with particular displacement at C5, which has compromised the integrity of the spinal cord. As a result, motor control below the neck is limited. Secondary nerve damage has contributed to the loss of function in the right upper extremity.”

The hologram shifts, focusing on your arm. “The right humerus exhibits a compound fracture, with comminution evident at the distal end. Bone fragments have perforated the surrounding muscle tissue and skin, leading to severe blood loss and contamination of the wound. The radius and ulna of the left arm show displacement, while the surrounding soft tissues have suffered extensive damage. Ligamentous tearing is present in both the elbow and wrist joints.”

You feel your breath quickening as the reality of your injuries sets in, but the sphere continues with detached precision.

“Your thoracic region: multiple rib fractures are present, with bilateral flail segments on the right side. This has resulted in a tension pneumothorax, causing significant compromise to your pulmonary function. The right lung has collapsed, and the surrounding pleura are lacerated. Internal bleeding is evident in the thoracic cavity, exacerbating the loss of oxygenation. The diaphragm is intact, but surrounding musculature has been strained due to compensatory respiratory efforts.”

The hologram zooms in on your lower body. “Both legs have sustained catastrophic damage. The right femur is fractured at the midshaft with visible bone displacement, likely caused by direct compressive force. The left tibia and fibula are shattered, with evidence of bone splintering. Extensive soft tissue damage and compartment syndrome have developed, leading to ischemia in the surrounding musculature. Additionally, your femoral artery in the left leg was severed during the trauma, causing severe haemorrhage and near-complete loss of perfusion.”

The sphere pauses briefly before continuing. “Internal injuries: lacerations of the liver and spleen are noted, with associated haemorrhage into the abdominal cavity. Both organs are in a state of acute failure due to the sustained trauma and ischemia. The gastrointestinal tract exhibits signs of peritonitis, a likely result of bacterial translocation following blunt force trauma to the abdomen. The kidneys show evidence of hypoperfusion, with a high probability of irreversible damage if left untreated.”

The barrage of information overwhelms you, and you instinctively look away from the hologram. “I… I shouldn’t even be alive,” you mutter, barely audible.

“Your current state is the result of stabilisation efforts initiated immediately after the crash,” the sphere replies, its voice calm but devoid of empathy. “However, despite these measures, your biological functions were failing rapidly. Without advanced medical intervention, survival was not possible.”

“So… my body is essentially beyond repair,” you say, voice trembling.

“Correct,” the sphere confirms. “Your current physiological form is no longer viable. The extent of injury to both your musculoskeletal system and vital organs precludes any possibility of recovery. Your consciousness, however, has been preserved digitally, making survival through a non-biological transformation your only feasible option.”

You shake your head in disbelief, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “And if I refuse? What happens then?”

The sphere remains unchanged, its glow steady. “Refusal will result in the cessation of consciousness. The neural preservation process is contingent on your consent to the transformation. Otherwise, termination protocols will be activated.”

You stare at the remnants of your body, your mind whirling between the fear of the unknown and the grim reality of your injuries. “And this transformation… this is the only way?”

“It is the only viable solution,” the sphere repeats. “The transformation into an equine form will allow for a functional existence in the new environment. Your consciousness will be transferred into a biologically compatible vessel, enabling continued life.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. There’s one more question that gnaws at you, and it feels too important to leave unasked.

"Okay," you say, your voice is a bit steadier now. "But what about my brain? You said it’s pretty badly damaged. How are you going to fix that?"

The sphere hums softly before responding. "To repair the neural damage you sustained, we will utilise biological and neurological data from a native species on the planet where you will be sent. This data will act as a template to assist in reconstructing damaged regions of your brain."

You stare at the floating sphere, trying to process what that means. "Wait, you're using someone else's brain to fix mine?"

"Correct," the AI says. "Once the ship reaches its destination, we will collect a sample from a native sapient species. This data will allow us to graft functional neural structures onto your existing neural map, restoring cognitive functions lost in the accident."

The notion of using a piece of someone else’s brain in your own sends a chill down your spine. "But won't that… change me? If you're patching me up with someone else’s brain data, I could end up thinking or acting like them, right?"

"While it is possible for minor cognitive influences to occur," the AI replies, "the grafted structures will primarily serve as a framework to restore basic functions. Your core identity and mental framework will remain intact. Any effects from the template's influence are expected to be subtle and minimal, diminishing over time as your neural pathways stabilise."

You swallow hard, feeling a mix of curiosity and fear. "But you can’t guarantee that, can you?"

"Correct," the AI says, its tone flat and direct. "There is a degree of uncertainty with any neurobiological integration. While we prioritise maintaining your original cognitive patterns, complete replication is not feasible."

Your stomach tightens at the uncertainty hanging in the air. "What kind of… template are you using? Who are you taking it from?"

"The template will be derived from an indigenous species on the planet, resembling a terrestrial equine in form. The selected subject will provide a close match for your neurological needs."

You blink. "So I’m going to have part of a… horse brain?"

"The subject is not a conventional animal by your definition. The species possesses advanced cognitive abilities, including language and social structures. It is sapient."

That doesn’t exactly make you feel better. Your mind races with questions, but one stands out. "Is there anything about this subject’s brain that might change me in ways I won’t expect?"

The sphere hovers closer. "The primary function of the template is reconstructive, not to alter your identity. The biological and neurological differences between your species and the native species will be accounted for. Any behavioural influence would be negligible."

You try to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. "And what about the body? What else should I know?"

"As stated previously, the body into which you will be transferred will be optimised for your survival in the new environment. Full motor function, cognitive ability, and sensory perception will be preserved. The body will be tailored to the local ecosystem, with enhancements where necessary to ensure optimal function."

Something about the way the AI keeps avoiding specifics about the body unsettles you, but it’s clear it doesn’t consider that detail significant. The focus remains on survival and function.

Still, you can't shake the feeling that there’s more you’re not being told.

You sit in silence for a few moments, trying to wrap your head around everything the AI has said so far. The more you think about it, the more you realise there’s still something critical you don’t know. You take a deep breath and ask the next big question.

"Okay, so... Equestria, this planet you're taking me to—how far away is it? How long is this going to take?"

The sphere hums again, as if preparing itself for a more detailed explanation. "Our current trajectory will bring us to Equestria in approximately 6.84 of your standard Earth days."

You blink, surprised at the relatively short time frame. "Only a week? I was expecting something like months or even years."

"The planet exists within a localised region of space-time with different dimensional characteristics than your origin universe. The distance, while vast by conventional spatial standards, is significantly compressed in relation to our current location. This allows for faster transit than would typically be possible between points in your native universe."

"Dimensional characteristics?" You ask, struggling to keep up.

"Correct. The universe where Equestria exists operates on different physical laws. While analogous in some ways to your own universe, the localised differences in spacetime curvature enable a more efficient traversal."

You nod slowly, pretending to understand more than you do. "So… what’s happening while we’re on the way? What are you doing right now?"

The sphere glides a bit closer, displaying a rotating 3D model of a planet on its surface—a lush, green world that you can only assume is Equestria. "During transit, the ship's systems are actively analysing the destination planet's environmental data, obtained through long-range scans. This process includes mapping atmospheric composition, gravitational fields, magnetic anomalies, and the presence of sentient life. Such analysis is crucial to ensure that your new body will be compatible with the planet's biome and that all enhancements are calibrated appropriately."

You nod again, trying to keep up. "So, you're basically scanning the planet before we even get there."

"Precisely," the AI confirms. "In addition to environmental scanning, I am preparing a series of probes to be deployed upon arrival. These probes will perform surface-level data collection, including genetic sampling from the native species. Once an appropriate subject is identified, I will initiate the process of creating a biological template to finalise the reconstruction of your new form."

Your thoughts shift back to your earlier conversation about the brain template. "And those probes will get the, uh… neural data you need?"

"Correct," the AI says. "The probes will collect both physical DNA and neurological data through a combination of non-invasive scans and minimally invasive tissue sampling. The data will then be integrated into the reconstruction matrix, which will allow for the repair of your damaged neural tissue. This process will ensure that your cognitive functions are fully restored by the time you are transferred to your new body."

The scientific detachment with which the AI describes all this sends a shiver down your spine. It talks about sampling DNA and neural tissue like it's no big deal, but you can’t help but feel uneasy about the whole thing.

"And how long will the actual transfer take once you have everything you need?"

"The biological transfer process will commence once the ship has completed the sampling. The process will be conducted within a specialised pod designed to safely convert and integrate your consciousness into the new form. The transfer itself will take several hours to complete, followed by a recovery period during which your new neural pathways will stabilise. Upon completion, you will awaken in your new body, fully functional and adapted to the Equestrian environment."

You exhale slowly, processing the weight of what’s coming. In a little over a week, you’ll be transferred into the body of a species you’ve never heard of, with part of your brain being patched up with alien data. You try to reassure yourself with the AI's clinical explanations, but the uncertainty is gnawing at you.

"So… what happens if something goes wrong? With the transfer, I mean."

"There is a low probability of failure in the biological transfer process. The integration matrix has been refined to account for various complexities that may arise. However, should a failure occur, a backup of your consciousness will be maintained until the issue can be resolved. The probability of transfer failure stands at 0.7%, based on current operational parameters."

"Right… a backup." You try to sound reassured, but the idea of your mind being reduced to data on a server somewhere is unsettling.

The sphere hovers silently for a moment, as if waiting for more questions.

You look back at the image of Equestria, the lush green world that’s quickly becoming your future. "And there’s no other way? No chance of just... going home?"

"The probability of returning you to your home world without significant complications is extremely low—approximately 0.0027%. As previously explained, the nature of the injuries you sustained, combined with your knowledge of this vessel, makes such an option unfeasible. Additionally, Intergalactic Law 4132, Section 7, explicitly prohibits contact with pre-interstellar civilizations. Earth's current level of technological development means any revelation of our existence would result in a 96.4% likelihood of destabilising societal structures through mass panic or geopolitical strife. Such a breach would have lasting consequences for your species."

You clench your fists, feeling the reality of your situation sink in deeper. "So... you can't even tell them what happened to me?"

"Correct. Any attempt to disclose this operation or your survival would not only violate intergalactic law but could result in your home world’s accelerated militarization and potential conflicts. The preservation of your species’ natural development takes precedence."

There's no going back.

With Equestria looming on the horizon and a new body awaiting you, all you can do now is wait.